


requiem

by fluffysfics



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Timeline Fuckery, complaining about the Doctor, is ‘angst with mild comedy’ a valid tag, set during the Master’s time on Earth, the Master bickering with themself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:20:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24843694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffysfics/pseuds/fluffysfics
Summary: Bored, reckless, hopeful, the Master takes a day out of his long exile on Earth to talk to his previous self. Maybe he’s just after some intelligent company for once; maybe he’s looking to be reminded of something more.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan), Twelfth Doctor/Missy
Comments: 10
Kudos: 74





	requiem

St Luke’s University, Bristol, was not a place that the Master had thought he’d ever see again. After spending seventy years stuck in a basement there, he didn’t exactly view the campus with fondness. 

But when you’d been stranded on Earth for 62 years, with another fifteen to go, a lot of things that hadn’t seemed appealing suddenly became a lot more interesting to you. So he was here, on a cool day in late March, to fuck with his own timeline a bit. For fun. Out of curiosity. Out of a sad, sad longing for what could have been that he was doing his very, very best to ignore. 

The whole _ignoring_ thing wasn’t going very well at all. 

He sighed, putting his head down and stalking across the campus, into the dark underground room where the Vault was kept. The Doctor wasn’t around; he was teaching, and Nardole was...elsewhere. All those years in the Vault, and the Master had never quite grasped what Nardole actually _did_. Complained, mostly. 

The security on the Vault door was exactly as useless as he remembered. He could have broken out of it any time he liked. He hadn’t, because fuck, he’d never wanted anything more badly than he’d wanted the Doctor back in his life. Back as a friend, a lover, _anything_. Missy had been so full of hope, sharp as she often seemed. 

The Master braced himself, and slid back the door. 

“Doctor! Starting to think you’d _forgotten_ me in here, dearie, now that would have been just _tragic_ \- ooh.” Missy stood up abruptly from where she’d been languishing dramatically by the piano. The Master suspected she’d lain herself there especially when she’d heard the Vault locks clicking open. He remembered doing exactly that on more than one occasion. 

“You’re no’ a student, are you?” Missy frowned, watching him like a hawk. The Master stepped closer; reached out as if to touch her, and then let his hand drop to his side. Oh, this was proving to be worse than expected. Things had been so much warmer when he’d been her, so much less painful. Missy still had faith that the Doctor could be her friend. The moment he’d lost that faith had hurt worse than any painful regeneration. 

“Not a student,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “Mistress.” 

That caught her attention, as if her curiosity hadn’t been piqued enough already. She sniffed the air, raised a hand to his shoulder; the Master felt the faint psychic crackle of a timeline looping back on itself, a touch that he could almost feel from both ends. 

“I downgraded again,” Missy said, raising an eyebrow. “Shame. I like the new model. Oh well, all good things must come to an end, I suppose.” 

Oh, if only she knew. 

“Didn’t have that much control over it. Would’ve given myself a few extra inches if I did. Might’ve stayed a woman, too. I really, really liked being you.” He turned, wandering over to sit on the piano bench. “How are you doing, Missy?” 

“As well as I can be doing, stuck in a box,” she said, waving a hand at the ceiling. “As _you_ well know, if you’re me. Don’t tell me I lost half a brain in the regeneration process, as well as the upgrades.” 

“Just trying to make conversation,” the Master said, irritation at the insult making him grind his foot down harder against the floor. 

“Don’t, dearie, it doesn’t suit us. Especially not you, it seems.” Missy swept over, bending down in front of him, like a doctor over her patient. “Any special reason you’re breaking the laws of time, or did you just pop in for a wee chat?” 

“Kind of the second one, actually.” The Master laughed, without much humour. “I liked being you. Miss it. Wasn’t _easy_ , but it was- good. Had a lot of fun.” 

“Don’t tell me I’ve gotten _sad_.” Missy pulled a face. “This whole Vault thing’s supposed to make me good, isn’t it? I’m not supposed to end up _sad_ , unless-“ She caught sight of the Master’s expression, and her own relatively cheery disposition suddenly faltered. He felt her realisation like a punch in the guts. 

“You’ve got about twelve more years,” the Master said, avoiding her gaze. She’d forget this all the moment he left her sight; no harm in telling her a few things. 

“Seventy years,” Missy murmured, slowly moving to sit on the piano stool next to him. “That’s...no’ even close to a thousand. Shame.” 

“I’ll spare you the details.” The Master kicked at an imaginary stone on the floor, not looking at her. 

“You’ll scuff yer shoe like that,” Missy said, smacking him sharply on the arm. He stopped kicking the floor. 

For a long moment, they were both silent. The Master reflected on how strange it was, to be sitting shoulder to shoulder with his past self. He respected her, a hell of a lot more than the body before her had done when they’d met. That one had truly deserved the backstabbing he’d received. 

Missy had done the best with what she’d been given, and she’d been dealt a thoroughly rotten hand. To even get _this_ far with the Doctor was better than any of his selves had managed in millennia. It wasn’t her fault that she hadn’t known the truth about her old friend yet. Hadn’t known that none of this could _ever_ have worked, because the two of them were just too impossibly far apart to—

“The Doctor,” Missy said eventually, snapping him out of his thoughts. “How’s he?” 

“She, actually.” 

“Oh, we swapped? Typical, that. Bet she doesn’t even appreciate the upgrades.” She rolled her eyes. “How’s _she_?”

The Master closed his eyes, tipped his head back to the dark ceiling. He was in his own company; he could be honest like he’d never been before. 

“She’s fascinating. Dark, so much darker than your Doctor. Completely ridiculous, as ever. I want to tear her to pieces just to see what makes her tick. I want to kiss the _life_ out of her. I hate her more than I’ve ever hated anything, but I can’t- I just can’t stop _loving_ her.” 

There was a loud crack, and the Master snapped his eyes open. He’d been gripping the piano bench with his fists so hard that the wooden centre support had broken. 

“Very dramatic, lovely monologue,” Missy said, raising an eyebrow. “More importantly, dearie, does she still play guitar? My one’s in another punk phase. Incredibly annoying, but he thinks I like to hear him play, and I haven’t the hearts to tell him to keep it down.” 

“Ridiculous old man,” the Master said, an almost fond note in his tone. “Don’t know. Don’t _think_ she plays.” 

“Well, maybe you’re better off than I am.” Missy clicked her tongue. “Earth punk bands are awful. What even _is_ a Sex Pistol when it’s at home, anyway?” 

The Master held his tongue, deciding not to mention that he’d been quite a fan, a few decades ago. Oh, maybe Missy’s Doctor was responsible for his punk phase. That was an irritating thought. 

“He’ll get over it in a year or so,” the Master assured her. “Then you’ll get the classical music phase. That one’s a bit more interesting.” 

“I see,” Missy said, not sounding convinced. 

“Least you can play along with him for the classical stuff.” The Master twisted around on the bench, ignoring the ominous creak of the broken beam. “Useless at piano, this time around.” He settled his fingers on the keys, playing a clumsy C major scale. 

“Anything you and your Doctor _aren’t_ useless at? Music, communication- can’t say I’m looking forward to us being a couple of horny teenagers again, it all sounds _very_ tedious.” 

Were she anyone else, the Master would have broken her nose for that comment, and possibly a few bones, too. As it was, he flattened his fist on the piano, making a loud, discordant sound ring out. 

“Control your temper,” Missy scolded, smacking him again. “What are you, a Time Tot?” The Master found himself glad that she didn’t have her umbrella, or else her arm-smacks might end up breaking something. He gritted his teeth, reining back the red-hot anger. 

“Don’t think I broke it,” he said shortly. 

“Well, don’t hit it _anyway_.” She tutted at him, standing up from the bench again. The Master stayed where he was, listening to her footsteps pace for a few seconds before she came to drape herself over the piano in front of him. “Does he ever kiss me again? Poor wee thing’s so _shy_ about touching me.” 

The Master shook his head, closed his eyes. He’d hoped Missy wouldn’t ask a question like that, because it just stirred up guilt inside of him. “She might have kissed me, but I ruined it. I pretended to be an MI6 agent for a while to get the Doctor to notice me. We texted. She had a crush on me.” He sighed. “And then I broke her hearts, because I was angry. Still am angry. Haven’t _stopped_ , with the anger, not since-“ 

“Not since what?” 

The Master shook his head. “You don’t want to know, Missy. Trust me.”

“Trust you?” She snorted. “You’re _me_. I don’t trust you at _all_.” 

“Fair point. Still not telling you. Got a nasty feeling it might linger past when I leave, and then I’d have really fucked the timelines.” 

“Must be important,” Missy mused. “What did the Doctor do now?” 

He shook his head again, getting up from the bench to pace the edges of the room. Absolutely terrible at staying still, this regeneration. The windows here let in a constant stream of white light; light that came from nowhere, light that no matter how hard you squinted through it, you couldn’t see anything but the void. 

“Daleks do something? Cybermen? _Time Lords_?” 

“Stop it,” the Master snapped, halting in his tracks. “Stop it. Stop asking. You don’t want to know. I’m _not_ telling you.” 

“Time Lords, then.” Missy sighed. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, I’ll stop askin’ questions. Quite the drama queen, aren’t you?” 

With a growl of anger, the Master slammed his palm into the wall, rage clouding his vision for a moment. Before he could get any further, Missy was against him- shoving him into the window, pinning his wrists. His hand stung horribly where he’d hit the wall, and she was digging several sharp nails into the worst part of the pain. 

“Control your temper. I’m no’ having this place destroyed by some _brat_ throwing a tantrum. Even if you are me, that’s no excuse. Am I clear?” 

The Master growled at her. She dug her nails harder into his sore hand. 

“Clear! Clear. Fine. Let me go,” he snarled, pushing back against her deceptively strong grip. 

Missy snapped her teeth at him, then grinned, pulling back and smoothing down her dress. “Good boy.” 

The Master chose to ignore that, on the grounds that he didn’t much want to get shoved against the wall again. Not by her. Not now. He examined his hand, and the crescent-shaped marks her nails had left in the reddened skin. 

“That hurt,” he said, somewhat unnecessarily. 

“Good.” Missy flounced back over to the piano bench, settling herself carefully on the part of the seat that was least likely to collapse. “So...why are you here? You come for a chat, complain about the Doctor, and get angry at things. All seems a bit pointless, you could say all that to yourself.” She paused, frowned. “I suppose you _are_. Whatever, you see my point.” 

He flexed his hand, and a sharp shiver of pain ran up his arm. Pain was good for clearing the mind, he’d found. Physical pain, at least. The ache in his hearts had never cleared _anything_ for him. 

“I missed you,” he said simply. “Haven’t had a lot of intelligent company lately. Won’t bore you with the details. But it’s nice to talk to someone who’s an equal again.” 

“Equal? Darling, you just had to be reminded not to take your feelings out on a _wall_.” 

The Master shot her a withering look, and Missy shot one right back. He withered first. 

“...The wall thing was impulsive. _I’m_ impulsive.” 

“That’s obvious enough. I’ll take a wild guess and say that’s most of the reason why you’re really here.” 

The Master shrugged. It was true. Coming here had been a ridiculous impulse. A way to torture himself a little more, a way to have one interesting day amidst seventy-seven years of constant human monotony. 

“Fine. I’m here on an impulse. Got bored. Figured I’d come say hi.” The Master took a few steps closer to his younger self, stopping just short of the raised platform that her piano rested on. Letting her have the high ground, in every sense of the phrase. “You’re lucky, Missy. You’ve got the Doctor right where we’ve always wanted them. And you’re trying to make the best of it. You really are. You’re trying so hard. I wanted to...to...thank you for that.” 

Missy looked genuinely taken aback by his sudden quiet honesty. “...You’re crying,” was all she said. 

The Master blinked, noticing the thin film of tears in front of his eyes for the first time. “Cry at everything, this time,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s this body. Ridiculous. But- my point- you did everything you could. Are doing everything you can. What happens in the end...” He stepped a little closer, bracing himself against one of the pillars surrounding the raised platform. “It’s not your fault. You did everything you could, but this...this could never have worked. The Doctor is never going to see us as an equal.” 

Maybe that was letting too much slip. The Master cast his eyes downwards, feeling a hot tear spill down his cheek. He swiped it angrily away, looking back up to find Missy watching him silently. 

“You’re no’ going to tell me what happened,” she said eventually. “I know. But whatever it is- the Doctor’s the Doctor. They’re always the same stupid idiot, no matter what they look like. You should try again, with your Doctor. She’ll let you, if you ask her. The Doctor always will.” 

“You don’t understand,” the Master said, shaking his head. He was nothing to the Doctor. Just some insignificant blip in their uncountable lifetimes. Missy wouldn’t get that; he didn’t expect her to. It would be cruel, to ask her to do anything except hope. And cruel as he often was to himself, this part of his lives felt sacred. Untouchable. Maybe _that_ was why he’d come here. Some desperate attempt to rekindle that hope. 

It hadn’t worked. 

“You don’t understand,” he said again. “And you shouldn’t. Try not to lose that hope, Missy. For my sake.” 

The Master turned around before she could say anything in response, dragging the Vault door open again and hurrying out. He could already feel the fuzz of a timeline error clouding his memory; in a few minutes, Missy wouldn’t remember this at all, and some of the details would be hazy even for him. 

Had it been worth it? He honestly didn’t know. He was certainly _feeling_ more than he had in years. Oh, the Master had forgotten just how much it hurt to feel. Especially when the Doctor was involved. 

——

Five minutes later, Missy wiped a tear away from her eye, studying the droplet for a moment before flicking it away. Curious. She couldn’t think of any possible reason to be crying. 

_Where there’s tears, there’s hope_ , she thought to herself. The Doctor had said that to her once or twice over the years. He probably thought it sounded wise. She wasn’t so convinced. 

Hope. There was an interesting concept. So fragile. So vain. Something that half the time, she’d be inclined to dismiss as silly. Not today, though. Today her mind seemed stuck on the idea of it. 

Something to talk to the Doctor about later, Missy thought to herself, shifting to face the piano. The bench creaked loudly under her, and she winced. Something else to talk to him about- getting her a new chair. 

Oh, that was funny. She often found herself at least half-irritated by the prospect of the Doctor’s visits, especially when he brought his guitar. Today, the feeling lingering in her hearts was nothing short of...nostalgic, wistful, _pleased_. 

Missy shook her head, resting long fingers on the delicate keys of the piano. An unusual mood was nothing to worry too much about, she decided. She had a long, _long_ imprisonment ahead of her; getting excited about her one chance at decent intelligent company was fine. 

There was a tiny prickle in the back of her mind- something like anguish, something like memory. 

She ignored it, and she began to play. 

**Author's Note:**

> I Love Missy but I’ve actually never written her before, so I sure hope I did her justice in this!! comments and kudos very much appreciated as always <3


End file.
